The impact was tremendous, rattling his chest and leaving him short of breath.
Time completely froze at that very moment.
Kiyota Nobunaga held the basketball in both hands, looking down at it, then back up at Sakuragi, who was still frozen in his shooting pose on the court.
His entire face seemed to scream three questions:
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why the hell is there a basketball in my hands?
"...Huh?"
Kiyota blinked.
His brain had completely crashed.
The entire team collectively turned to stone.
The sports drink in Jin Soichiro's hand was nearly crushed.
Coach Takato Riki's folding fan made a sharp crack as one of its ribs snapped clean off.
On the court.
Akagi Takenori remained frozen in his rebounding position, his entire expression practically falling apart.
Miyagi Ryota's mouth hung wide open, his jaw nearly dropping onto his feet.
Rukawa Kaede rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked away.
"Complete idiot."
Silence.
The kind of silence so painfully awkward that you could practically curl your toes into a three-bedroom apartment.
It lasted a full three seconds.
Sakuragi Hanamichi was still holding that incredibly cool shooting pose.
His right wrist was bent downward, as though he were still savoring the smooth sensation of the ball leaving his fingertips.
Then a cool breeze passed over his completely bald head.
His face visibly turned red from his neck all the way to the top of his skull.
Like a fully ripened tomato.
"Uh...?"
Sakuragi let out a short, deeply philosophical sound of confusion.
In the corner of the stands, the four members of Sakuragi's Gang all covered their faces at the same time.
"It's over."
Mito Yohei groaned in agony.
"It's all over."
"Back to square one overnight."
Over in the Kainan section, Kiyota Nobunaga held the basketball in his arms as two inexplicable tears streamed down his cheeks.
He tremblingly raised the ball, his voice filled with unbearable grief.
"So humiliating…"
"Our Kainan…"
"Actually lost to a team like this…"
"A comedy troupe that can't even touch the rim!!"
The next second.
BOOM!!
Laughter exploded through the entire gym like a nuclear bomb.
"Hahahahahahahaha!!"
"What the hell was that bald guy doing?! I'm dying!"
"That was a shot?! He was trying to assassinate someone in the audience!"
"He passed it straight to the stands!"
"Is Number 10 trying to laugh his opponents to death so he can inherit the trophy?!"
On Toyotama's bench, the players were doubled over with laughter. Some were even pounding the floor.
On the court, Kishimoto Minori was laughing so hard he could barely stand upright, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Hey, hey, hey! So this is your special training?"
"This is your genius shooting?!"
"Are you trying to kill me with laughter?!"
Kishimoto pointed at Sakuragi, gasping for breath between laughs.
The laughter was like countless needles stabbing into the hearts of every Shohoku player.
Humiliation.
Despair.
Their morale had already been at rock bottom.
Now it had fallen even further, with the entire situation becoming almost comically tragic.
The score was 0–9.
Their key players were being toyed with.
Their ace was being targeted.
Their secret weapon had become the laughingstock of the entire gym.
"BEEEEEP!"
At that exact moment, a sharp buzzer cut through the overwhelming laughter.
The referee raised his hand.
"Shohoku is requesting a substitution!"
The laughter abruptly stopped.
Everyone instinctively turned toward the Shohoku bench.
Coach Anzai adjusted his glasses, a brief flash of reflected light crossing the lenses.
Then he turned toward the figure sitting beside him.
"Go."
The old man's voice was quiet, yet carried the stability of an anchor holding an entire ship in place.
"Bring the game back on track."
On the bench.
Makino Juro slowly stood up.
He said nothing.
He simply unzipped his jacket at an unhurried pace.
The black-and-red Shohoku warm-up jacket slipped open, revealing the number 16 underneath.
He rolled his shoulders.
Crack.
A sharp pop came from his neck.
That normally lazy, carefree aura disappeared the moment he straightened his back.
What replaced it…
was a chilling presence that made one's heart tremble.
Like a sleeping beast finally opening its eyes.
Makino Juro walked toward the court, passing the dejected Sakuragi along the way.
"Master…"
Sakuragi lowered his head, his voice as quiet as a mosquito's buzz. His face was so red it looked ready to bleed.
"I…"
Makino Juro didn't stop.
He simply raised his hand and smacked Sakuragi across his smooth, bald head.
PAK.
The sound was crisp and loud.
"Go sit down and watch carefully."
Makino Juro's voice was calm.
Far too calm.
Almost frighteningly so.
"Watch closely and see how your master teaches them a lesson."
With that, he stepped onto the court.
Makino Juro slowly raised his head.
[Ryota Kise (SF) Template · Activated]
[Skills Activated: Basic Imitation, Perfect Copy]
[Stamina Consumption Doubled]
[Ryota Kise's Stats]
[Dribbling 95, Passing 90, Steals 90, Basketball IQ 98]
[Mid-Range 90, Three-Pointer 90, Rebounding 90, Blocks 92]
[Strength 90, Speed 94, Stamina 90, Vertical 93]
His originally dark, deep pupils seemed to undergo a strange transformation.
A brilliant golden light erupted from deep within his eyes.
Dazzling.
Passionate.
Chasing the sun.
His gaze met Kishimoto Minori's.
Kishimoto had still been laughing.
But the instant he looked into those golden eyes, his smile froze on his face.
A chill shot straight up his spine and into the crown of his head.
It was the instinctive fear of a living creature.
The feeling of having the throat of a prey animal locked onto by an apex predator.
"Perfect."
Makino Juro casually rolled his wrist, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel smile.
There wasn't a trace of warmth in those golden eyes.
"I'll use you trash…"
"To test out my new template."
The game resumed.
Because Sakuragi's airball had gone out of bounds, possession went to Toyotama.
Itakura Daijiro inbounded the ball from the baseline.
He glanced at Makino Juro, who had just entered the game.
For some reason, a strange sense of unease crawled over him.
But his mouth remained just as arrogant as ever.
"What good is putting some pretty boy on the court?"
"Keep running! Run them into the ground!"
The ball was passed to Minami Tsuyoshi.
Toyotama's pace remained frighteningly fast.
This was their signature style:
Run & Gun.
Minami caught the ball, turned, and accelerated.
However.
The instant he turned...
A hand appeared without warning directly along the ball's path.
No sound of wind.
No warning.
It was as if that hand had always been there, simply waiting for the basketball to run into it.
PAK!
The basketball was forcefully slapped straight onto the floor.
Minami's eyes widened.
What?!
He immediately looked up.
And found himself staring directly into those crimson-gold eyes.
Makino Juro had one hand pressed against the ball, his body leaning slightly forward.
He looked down at Minami from above, his eyes treating him like nothing more than an insignificant insect.
"Too slow."
His voice wasn't loud.
Yet it struck Minami's heart like a hammer.
The next second.
Makino Juro twisted his wrist.
The basketball seemed to come alive before suddenly vanishing from Minami's field of vision.
A clean steal!
The spectators who had been laughing at Shohoku just moments ago fell completely silent.
It was as though someone had collectively grabbed them by the throat.
"Get back on defense!!"
Kishimoto roared as he rushed over to cover.
Makino Juro didn't pass.
He dribbled forward.
His speed wasn't even particularly fast.
In fact, he looked almost lazy.
The ball bounced rhythmically beneath his fingertips, as though it were simply another part of his body.
Kishimoto rushed in front of him and spread his arms wide, his face twisted into a grimace.
"Don't even think about getting past me!!"
Makino Juro looked at him.
A hint of amusement flashed through his eyes.
Then...
His center of gravity suddenly dropped.
A massive crossover.
His speed exploded so violently that it left an afterimage, reaching a level beyond the limits of ordinary neural reaction.
"Kneel."
Two quiet words.
Kishimoto's vision blurred.
His body instinctively tried to follow.
But the commands from his brain and the momentum of his body collided violently.
His ankle let out a pained cry under the strain.
Thud.
In full view of everyone.
The Osaka forward who had been acting so arrogantly just moments ago suddenly buckled at the knees.
He dropped heavily onto the hardwood.
Right in front of Makino Juro.
And practically bowed down to him.
The entire gym fell silent.
The same stunned expression that had appeared on Kiyota Nobunaga's face earlier now spread across the faces of everyone watching.
Makino Juro didn't even bother looking down at him.
He simply walked past the kneeling Kishimoto at a leisurely pace.
As casually as stepping over a bag of garbage.
He reached midcourt.
Stopped.
Jumped.
His form was textbook-perfect, yet carried an unmistakable, wild arrogance.
His wrist flicked gently.
The basketball traced a green-gold arc through the air.
SWISH!
Nothing but net.
END OF CHAPTER
The King Of Slacking Off - MrBehringer's Secret
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